Les Choses Qui Sont Arrivées Après
by Katie Brown Eyes
Summary: "You must flee Paris at once." Enjolras and Eponine. The thief and the leader, the marble Apollo and the dark street girl... two wholly different survivors of the Revolution are forced together under a dangerous circumstance. Can they successfully fight their demons as well as each other? Neither of them knows quite what is going on, or what will happen when they figure it out.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello lovelies! This is my first Les Miserables fanfiction, because the thought of Enjolras and Eponine together tug at my heart strings. This is mainly based on the movie and book, meaning that my Enjolras and Eponine are Aaron Tveit and Samantha Barks from the 2012 film. Updates will also be posted to my tumblr page andhotcoffee. Enjoy, and don't forget to review! Song credit: Soft Revolution by Stars. The title, 'Les Choses Qui Sont Arrivées Après,' is French for 'The Things That Happened After.'_

* * *

**I. **

**We are here to save your life  
The fool, the drunk, the child, and his wife  
We won't let the sun go down  
We gonna chase the demons out of town**

* * *

_"You must flee Paris at once, Monsieur."_

These words, spoken to Enjolras only a few days ago, echoed inside his mind until he could hear nothing else. He is currently in the state of semi-sleep that is incredibly dangerous. You are conscious enough to feel and to perhaps see, but the nightmares in your brain fight their way to your conscious mind. Your life is a hallucination and a reality all in one without being able to tell one from the other. The carriage he is riding in shakes and pushes him around roughly, but he doesn't feel anything. He only feels a spray of bullets flying past his head.

If someone were to ask him simply, "_Monsieur Enjolras, how did you escape?"_ He wouldn't be able to answer. His current state of mind isn't stable and he is certain it would never be again. In truth, he wasn't sure if he did indeed actually escape. Was he still at the barricade? Or, more importantly, would he ever leave it?

Those words, "_You must flee Paris at once, Monsieur," _fade into the back of his mind and turn into the sounds of the barricade. Bits of plaster and glass are cascading from the ceiling in the café as the power from an explosion makes him stumble. Flashes from the firing of muskets burn his eyes.

He feels it- pools of blood gathering at his feet, threatening to fill the room and drown him- the marble statue, so inspirational and pure, with nothing but chaos before him.

The barricade is being overrun and the adrenaline is back in Enjolras' veins; he hears himself shouting orders without remembering to do so. "_Joly, watch out on your left! Combeferre, your right!"_ Then he is shouting words of revolution- "_for France! The Republic!"_ – Then pleas…

_"Grantaire, don't! Marius, into the café! Courfeyrac…!"_

The whole dreadful scene crumbles around him; everything falls through the cracks until he is the only thing standing in the darkness. Enjolras is pulled back to the present, unwillingly it seems, as if he was in the middle of unfinished business. He feels it in his veins, in the sinew of his muscles; they are screaming "_Take me back! We are not done…"_

But they are done. It's over, the Revolution; and they are all dead.

The dark girl next to him in the carriage brings him back to the present, completely this time. She awkwardly pokes his arm, only looking down and clearing her throat at the same time. Eponine. He mutters a small apology and sheepishly looks away out of the carriage window, taking a deep breath and adjusting to the remembers where he is now, but he isn't comforted.

* * *

**We are here to take the blame**  
**To take the taunts and if the shame**  
**We are here to make you feel**  
**It terrifies you, but it's real**

* * *

Those words, "_You must flee Paris at once, Monsieur," _were spoken by Madame Houchloup soon after the last of the barricade boys were all assumed dead. He still wasn't sure how he managed to get out, but the good Madame tried to explain it to him though the haze of fever and blood loss that he had indeed been injured not as severely as he could have been.

The five men that were set free from the barricade the previous day had managed to gather together a select few men from the far reaches of Paris to help as best as they could. This meant that after the barricade was overrun (because no one bothered to prevent such a thing; they were prepared to die and didn't need any more foolish men wasting lives) a small handful of these men infiltrated the ranks of the Paris militia, much like Javert managed to sneak his way behind the barricade. It was these few men, no more than six, who pulled Enjolras' broken body from the café when the battle was over.

Due to the passion of battle, the crazed fighting of schoolboys and terrified shots aimed at nothing, a few of these men who appeared to be dead where only wounded. They found three, only three, but not all were men.

Enjolras, Eponine, and a third young man whom no one knew were considered miracles among the small group of Parisians who were the only ones to know of this secret mission. Enjolras wasn't so sure. He didn't feel much like a miracle, only an accident.

After those words were spoken by Madame Houchloup plans were made to remove the survivors of the barricade from Paris. The third man had perished a few days into July, too far gone due to his wounds. This left only Eponine and Enjolras, two individuals with nothing at all in common besides their current predicament.

Marius was alerted of the survival of his two friends by an associate of Madame Houchloup. They met in a makeshift hospital room, located in the attic of a small apothecary on the other side of the city. Enjolras and Marius shook hands, avoided questions, and stared at each other as if seeing a ghost.

Eponine remained quiet.

Marius imediently began talk of removing them from the city. It was far too dangerous for them to remain in the belly of Paris. Both could easily be recognized, and Eponine had the added disadvantage of being a Thenardier. It was in both of their interests to be relocated, as it were, to a town a decent way away from Paris called Toulouse for about a year. Would they pose as brother and sister? cousins… perhaps even man and wife? There wasn't time to bicker about the details. In this time their connections in Paris would have had enough time to manipulate records to assure them both dead as well as allow a period of rest in Paris; allow the people and the government to leave the June Rebellion of 1832 in the past. Marius was able to procure some of his grandfather's wealth, not missed by the old man, to obtain a modest house for the two unlikely survivors: the leader and the thief. The conversation happened quickly and awkwardly, none of the three knowing quite what to say to the other. Eponine refused to be moved, but eventually relented when Maris, holding her small hand in his, told her of her father's journey to America.

Enjolras had a feeling that her decision had more to do with the news of Marius' marriage than of her father's travels.

So this is how he got to be in this carriage, the French countryside rolling past him with his arm in a sling and the dark Parisian girl by his side. Enjolras wasn't sure what he would do when he returned to Paris, but he couldn't seem to wait to be rid of Eponine and his demons come spring.

Little did he know that the diminishing of these two things, one perhaps more difficult to be rid of than the other, would prove almost impossible.

* * *

_Disclaimer: I don't own any characters pertaining to Les Mis_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all for the follows and reviews! I appreciate every one of them. As a reminder, I am also updating on my tumblr andhotcoffee. Now to continue on this journey... _

* * *

**II. **

**It will keep you up all night  
And in the flood of morning light**

* * *

It was nearly nightfall when the carriage carrying Eponine and Enjolras finally made it to Toulouse. The town was well chosen: not quite big enough to be a city, it was also not small enough for the news of two strange new people moving in to be the talk of the town. It still wasn't clear about who they would pose to be.

It was decided by them both, Marius included, that it wasn't necessary to change names or go to great lengths to conceal personal habits. They needed to be off the map for a while, not disappear altogether. Eponine was gifted two modest dresses from Marius: one pale green and the other a navy blue. Enjolras had made a short stop to his old apartment by the university and only grabbed a few items. Between them both they only had two carpet bags and a small trunk.

The house was to be furnished, according to Marius, so not much was needed. In addition to her two new dresses, Eponine only brought a thin nightgown, a pair of previously owned satin slippers, one pair of good shoes, a hair brush, and a few small toiletry items. All of these were provided by the same people who had saved her and Enjolras' life, supplemented by Marius and his new found wealth. Enjolras brought the same: a couple sets of clothes, one set of shoes, and seven of his own books. It was all he retrieved from the apartment.

He had also left his red jacket behind.

Other than their few personal items, one of the bags contained a set of bed linens, four plates, two sets of cutlery, two candle sticks, and a few gold pieces to ensure they would have food until a means of employment was found for them both. Eponine was urged to not revert back to her old habits of getting by; it would only attract attention if she were to be arrested for stealing or using her feminine wiles.

The first glimpse of his new home by Enjolras was seemingly promising. It was a small house, only one floor, with a dirt road running in front and a very small fenced in area in the back. The walls had once been meticulously whitewashed but now had a layer of dirt and grime on the outside. The shutters on the windows were light green, and a few sprigs of wildflowers were growing at the base of the house. It was modest, small, and looked as though it would be warm in the winter.

They would only be having two neighbors, both a little ways away. About a half mile from the house, just visible over a small hill, was a home almost identical to the one previously described but slightly larger. The carriage driver informed Enjolras and Eponine that a middle aged couple lived there, alone, because their only son had just moved to the neighboring town with his new wife. There was another house, unseen by them both, that the driver also described to them. It was more of a shack than a house, he told them, and was home to a very old man who had survived some war that had been forgotten by everyone else.

The driver unloaded the trunk for them, noticing Enjolras' arm, then bid them adieu and drove off. This was it, they were left alone, and neither one said much.

They both stood still where they had stepped off the carriage, each one not quite willing to be the first to step into the house. Enjolras locked his gaze onto the front door and once again slipped into remembering the barricade. He was only partially aware of the girl beside him sighing, grabbing the two bags, and (not very gracefully, he noticed) she flung the door open, threw the two bags inside while holding the door ajar with her small foot, and gestured for him to follow.

Once inside Eponine had ended her silence, quickly appraising her new home.

"Well, look, two fireplaces! I've only ever had one, you see, besides a long time ago in my father's inn. This place is nicer though… I'll be damned, real glass in the windows! Looks like Monsieur Marius knew what he was doing."

She continued to speak both to Enjolras and herself as she walked around. Enjolras observed in a quieter fashion.

The room they had just walked into was moderately sized, smaller than Enjolras was used to but better than he had predicted. A small wooden table that looked to be freshly scrubbed was in front of him with two matching chairs pushed in on either side. On the far end of the room was a fireplace, another small table, and several cabinets. The walls were brick painted over white, and much like the outside walls looked like they had seen better days. There were two windows on the right wall, and as Eponine had pointed out, did indeed contain real glass.

This main room, however, was only half of the house. It was separated by a wall on Enjolras' left side that was only as long as half the room, leaving a portion by the kitchen area open to the other side. Slowly, and reluctantly, Enjolras made his way to this open portion to see the rest of the house. Now facing the opposite way as when he first entered the house, the first thing he noticed made his heart drop.

There was only one bed, pushed against the side of the wall with a small table and a wicker chair situated beside it. Eponine, apparently unaffected, was already exploring the back yard. The second fireplace was in the middle of the wall and smaller than the one in the kitchen. There was a set of drawers set up against the partition wall, a window at the far end, and another wicker chair beside it. On closer inspection, in the area behind Enjolras, there was a very small room that contained a metal tub too small to bathe in and a wooden bucket. This, he assumed, was to be used for the well that the driver had told them about. Luckily it wasn't too far, only a mile or so to the east. Eponine found her way back into the house. Seeing the uncomfortable look on Enjolras' face, she didn't linger and instead went into the kitchen.

Taking advantage of being alone, Enjolras placed his clothes in the top drawer of the bureau and his books on the desk. Looking into the cold fireplace, not quite knowing how to even begin living this life, he adjusts his sling with a cringe.

"Monsieur?"

He turns to see Eponine, in the blue dress that was previously mentioned, sticking her head around the partition with a shy smile on her face.

"I have the food out, if you're hungry."

Enjolras only nods and follows her into the kitchen, pretending to adjust his sling again in an attempt to avoid conversation. If he had to pick just one person to not only survive the barricade with, but to also be his new house mate, Eponine wouldn't have even been on the list.

He wasn't hungry at all, still trying to banish the images of blood and musket fire from his mind. He thought to himself, _Why am I here? I was prepared to die… I was supposed to die… _His blue eyes, once strong but now pale, fixated on the food Eponine had laid out on the table. It was what Cosette had hastily given them, by way of Marius, right before they left Paris. Some cold chicken, a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, two potatoes, and a jug of wine… Enjolras was about to refuse, but heard Joly's voice in the back of his mind, "_Come now, dear Apollo! We can't have the leader of the Revolution perishing because of hunger. Do not be foolish, at least have some bread!"_

_"Forget the bread, mon amis, have the wine! Trust me, it will help!"_

Fantastic. Now he is hearing Grantaire as well. But of course he isn't! _Enjolras_, he tells himself, _they are all dead. Stop being a child!_

His internal conversation is interrupted by Eponine, who he realizes has been trying to get his attention.

"Come on, Monsieur, I cannot eat all of this myself!"

Enjolras relents and sits in the other chair, his back stiff, and nibbles on a piece of cheese and bread. Eponine isn't shy, going for the chicken first and then the wine. He supposes he should eat, after all. It didn't make since to refuse food when he is trying to heal, the ghost of Joly reminded him of that. This decision was also made because of the girl across from him, still with hallowed cheeks and hunger in her eyes. How would he look if he refused? Not eating food when it is placed in front of him wouldn't just be foolish, it would also be insulting. It was one of the reasons he fought, yes, so that the poor could eat?

Enjolras, painfully admitting to himself, realized that at the current moment he didn't quite remember what it was all his friends had died for. The Revolution, the people of France…. but the barricades were not a success. Did that mean they died for nothing? After a few bites of food he muttered to Eponine that he was going to find the well and retrieve some water, not yet ready to drink the wine.

* * *

**Spilling out across your room**  
**You say the words will get there soon**

* * *

Enjolras took his time getting the water, finding the well easily but not hurrying back. He tried to block his mind from thoughts of Revolution and his friends. What were their last words? Jean Prouvaire had said "_Vive l'France! Long live the Republic!_" he knew this, of course, but started to become frantic when he realized he couldn't remember the rest. What kind of man was he, really?

By the time Enjolras wondered back to the house, the daylight was disappearing beyond the horizon and a few pale constellations were visible in the sky. Struggling, he opened the back door and placed the wooden bucket in the small alcove like area. Walking into the main part of the house he noticed Eponine had cleaned up the food, wrapping it back in the original container and placing it in one of the cupboards. The two potatoes were buried in the embers of the kitchen fireplace and the trunk, still unpacked, was pushed into a corner.

Once entering the bedroom – _oh my, we share a bedroom don't we?_ – He instinctively looked away when he noticed Eponine. His heart racing and his face turning deep red, he had forgotten that such close quarters might be very awkward. She giggled and said, "Do not worry Monsieur, I am not so frightening." Realizing he would have to look up in order to see where he was going, his eyes looked up slowly and his heart rate calmed down significantly when he saw she was dressed in her new nightgown, a thin brown blanket wrapped around her shoulders and the slippers on her feet. He couldn't help inwardly scowling.

_Really, how improper! At least she has that ratty old blanket, not that it will help in the summer heat. Although, do you really expect her to retire in her day dress? After all, the streets probably weren't a very good breeding ground for manners..._

"Monsieur, you may have the bed."

Enjolras started to protest, his gentlemanly side making an appearance, but she interrupted him. "Don't be foolish! You are injured, after all, and I am quite used to sleeping on things worse than a clean floor. Besides, I will be beside the fireplace."

Enjolras nodded again, knowing he would never win an argument with a Thenardier. He slipped off his vest and shoes and placed them beside the bed. While doing so he noticed one of Eponine's shoes by the fireplace, while the other was in the opposite corner of the room. It looks like the streets of Paris didn't teach her how to be organized, either. They both settled into their prospective places: Enjolras in the bed and Eponine on the floor by the fireplace... but not without an air of awkwardness among them.

Feeling guilty and not at all polite, Enjolras cleared his throat and spoke up.

"At least take a pillow, Mademoiselle. It must be uncomfortable on the floor."

Eponine, without lifting her head, responded. "Do not call me a Mademoiselle, Monsieur. I can assure you I do not have a respectable place in society. And keep your pillow; I am really very comfortable with the fire."

"Really, you should take it. There are two here, so don't think you are taking mine."

"I told you no, Monsieur."

"Well, you are being incredibly stubborn; I insist you take this pillow."

"You insist? You are the one now being stubborn."

Enjolras took a deep breath to calm himself. Him, being stubborn! He was merely being polite! _This silly girl clearly doesn't know anything about manners, or common sense for that matter._ Well, Enjolras was in a bad mood already, and if she was going to give him an attitude he would give one right back, since Eponine clearly didn't care about decorum. He took the spare pillow, a bit lumpy, but good all the same, and threw it on the ground beside Eponine._ There, now she would have to take it._

He laid back down on the bed and pulled the blanket around him. Even though it was only a summer night, he had been getting chills since the Revolution. The mattress, although a bit musty and rough, was comfortable enough. Despite his inner demons fighting to manifest into nightmares and conversations with his dead friends, the day had been a long one and he was beginning to fall asleep. Just when he was settling in, a loud thump sounded from the area of the bed that he had turned his back on. Through squinting eyes he saw the pillow he had thrown on the bed, and Eponine looking sound asleep as though nothing had happened.

* * *

_Disclaimer: I don't own any characters pertaining to Les Mis_


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello again! I apologize about the wait, new job and all XD I hope you enjoy! Also, any suggestions about the Enjolras/Eponine relationship are welcome. Input is quite fabulous. Read on, and don't forget to review! (follow my tumblr at andhotcoffee)._

* * *

**III.**

**The revolution wasn't bad  
We hit the streets with all we had**

* * *

Enjolras opened his eyes slowly, unaccustomed to the bright country sun. For a moment he had forgotten where he was, but then it all came rushing back. His sleep hadn't been peaceful. Nightmares, although not as bad as he was used to, had plagued him all night. Thankfully he didn't wake up in a cold sweat screaming as he had done on several occasions, once again living at the barricade. He hadn't quite figured out how to explain to Eponine why he had woken up in the dead of the night screaming like a child.

Still covered by the rough woolen blanket, he rolled over, shifting his sling and sitting up slowly to minimize the pain he was currently experiencing. He saw Eponine still curled up by the fire, which at this time was only burning embers. Her back was to him and her long dark hair was fanned out across the rough floor. Despite the brown blanket still draped around her, she looked almost impossibly small. Enjolras was reminded for a brief moment just how much Eponine had to go without. The chicken and wine she had eaten the night previously had most likely been the most substantial meal she had eaten in a long while.

He sighed, his chest slowly rising up and down. He watched the dust settle slowly into the rays of sunshine streaming in from the small window for a moment before finding the energy to get out of bed. Tossing the blanket to his side, he stood on uneasy feet, faltering at first while trying not to strain his arm or the stitches in his chest. He shuffled quietly to the small wash room, making a point to stop and watch Eponine's sleeping form for a few moments to ensure she really was sleeping. Once in the small room Enjolras noticed the bucket still partially full of well water and a cracked mirror hanging on the far wall. His movements were slow and ridged, much like an old man who had to perform calculated moves in order not to hurt himself. He was heavy as well, Enjolras was aware. It was as if he was also carrying his dead friends with him, all the way from Paris and now into this small and dirty wash room. Splashing some cold water on his face, he forced himself to look in the mirror. What had become of the marble leader of liberty, as he was so fondly called? His presence was no longer noble or powerful. His face was slightly thinner and his golden curls were too smooth in some places and wild in others. His blue eyes, once full of light, were now a pathetic excuse for pale blue. He didn't see anything in them, not even hurt.

He replaced his arm sling with a spare he had brought along from Paris. He sat down, gingerly removing the dirty sling while also being careful not to move his injured arm. He briefly rinsed this sling- a poor excuse for 'washing'- and hung it by the strap from a nail in the wall. Enjolras then took the clean one and situated his arm as best as he could.

The whole process took entirely too long for his liking and he felt tired. He was a young man, why could he not replace a simple arm sling without having to take a break? He decided to tell himself it didn't actually happen and that he had replaced it with ease like a normal, lucid, and self-aware man. He was just picking up the mirror, which had fallen during his struggle with the sling. Looking back towards the doorway, he jumped when he saw Eponine standing there leaning against the door frame with a sly smile on her face, although Enjolras couldn't imagine what she would be so happy about.

"Need help Monsieur?"

"Certainly not, Mademoiselle." Enjolras scowled. He was only met with a look from the dark girl which seemed to say "_I don't believe you for a second_." With her arms crossed over her chest, she turned on her heal and left. Enjolras waited a moment and followed because he simply didn't know what else to do. Eponine was seated at the kitchen table and eating one of the potatoes she had left in the fireplace the night before. Enjolras dug the other one out of the still warm embers and sat at the table with a plate and silverware; Eponine was taking bites out of her potato like it was an apple. For lack of anything else to do Enjolras ate his feeble breakfast slowly, and went over in his mind once again the last time he had seen all his friends. Out of the silence he heard the rough voice of the Parisian girl.

"I told you not to call me Mademoiselle, Monsieur."

"Excuse me?"

"This morning, only a moment ago, you called me a Mademoiselle. I told you last night not to call me that Monsieur, as the term doesn't apply to me in the least."

Enjolras wanted to roll his eyes. _What did she want him to call her_? Simply her name seemed extremely inappropriate, since they had only known one another for not even two months and had nothing you could even call a small connection. He didn't say anything in response and instead decided to just avoid conversation altogether.

They finished their breakfast in silence, Eponine softly tapping her foot and looking around contently while Enjolras grumpily chewed his potato (which needed salt). He went over in his mind things that he needed to accomplish, even though it was more of an attempt to chase out the voice of Courfeyrac telling him to run into the café than it was to be productive.

_Secure some sort of employment, keep a low profile, don't talk to anyone more than absolutely necessary, and survive until spring._ He also had to somehow survive sharing a household and possibly a few awkward conversations with Eponine. He scowled as he took another bite of his food.

Impossible.

After their silent breakfast together Eponine suggested that they walk the short distance to town in order to obtain some more food and necessary items. She added that they also might find some helpful information about a job for one or both of them. Enjolras imediently disagreed, saying he didn't want attention brought to them and that he was still a bit tired from the carriage ride. But Eponine was stubborn so she kept at it, insisting they go into town. Frustrated, Enjolras managed to say something along the lines of "_Why can't you just go to town on your own?!"_ to which Eponine replied promptly, "_I am neither your wife nor your mother, so if you wish to eat at all in the next few days you will come into town tonight and buy your own food."_

Enjolras, not accustomed to being spoken to in such a way by anyone, let alone a mere wisp of a girl, couldn't think of a retort and ended up walking a decent length behind Eponine on the crude dirt road into town. He clumsily tripped on rocks while she skipped and maneuvered the path like she was born to do so. She giggled as two sparrows flew by behaving like they were playing: flying in circles and chirping at each other.

"_Foolish,"_ muttered Enjolras under his breath as he tripped over yet another dip in the road.

* * *

**A tape recording with the sound  
Of the Velvet Underground**

* * *

They eventually managed to get into town and headed straight for the market, even though Eponine wanted to explore some more. They spent entirely too much time in the market according to Enjolras, who neglected to understand that Eponine hadn't ever been able to purchase what she wanted to eat in over ten years. She inspected every stand and booth, asking questions and making sure to weigh every option. She settled on food much like they had brought with them, only Eponine indulged in a piece of chocolate sold to her by a man with a large belly and a wandering gaze. As she turned away the man winked at Enjolras, who was thoroughly puzzled at the man's actions.

The walk back to the house seemed a bit longer than the one into town, and Enjolras was definitely ready to sit down and read a book in the peace and quiet. Eponine, on the other hand, didn't share his wishes. Nibbling on her chocolate she asked,

"What did you study at your university?"

At this point Enjolras had figured out it was easier to give her short answers than to ignore her entirely, which would only result in more questions. He answered begrudgingly.

"Politics."

"Oh, how boring! I wish women could go to the universities. My sister Azelma once told me I would be very good at running a business. I tell you, I would be better than my crazy old Father any day. Do you have a sister as well, or a brother perhaps?"

He was about to answer with a concise '_no_' when he heard footsteps and voices coming closer from over the hill. A middle aged couple appeared, the man pushing a cart with a bunch of rather pathetic looking vegetables on the inside. Enjolras couldn't hear what they were talking about, but as they drew closer the woman looked up and whispered something to her husband. The man waved and was answered by a friendly wave from Eponine and a forced one from Enjolras.

Enjolras was inwardly praying that they wouldn't start a conversation. But yet again, when did his prayers ever come true? Sure enough, the man spoke up as soon as they were close.

"So, you two must be the new couple in the house over the hill? We live in the cottage you saw on your way in to Toulouse. Our neighbors on the other side saw you get dropped off and told us. I for one am glad that you two are young! Before you we had an old couple, very angry all the time and not at all polite. My name is Claude, and this is my wife Marie."

Enjolras managed to put on a 'professional normal person' front and spoke up first. "My name is Enjolras, and this is Mademoiselle Eponine. We actually aren't…" He was prevented from saying that they were not actually a 'couple', but the woman jumped into the conversation to say that they were going to be late to the market, then mumbled to herself about her husband always chatting away the working hours. The man nodded in agreement and the couple waved goodbye to Enjolras and Eponine, both still absorbing the very quick and sudden conversation they had just had. The woman, Marie, whispered to her husband as they walked away, "What a lovely young couple. Good looking, especially the man. A bit odd though, don't you think Claude?"

Even though they both pretended they didn't hear, both Eponine and Enjolras heard the tail end of the couple's conversation. Eponine finished her chocolate before looking at Enjolras and saying, "Well, I suppose we're married, then."

* * *

_Disclaimer: I don't own any characters pertaining to Les Mis_


	4. Chapter 4

_UGH, I really actually hate this one. I mean, the ending is fine I suppose. I don't know, help me out guys! Good, bad, indifferent... let me know! Reviews are better that ice cream, it's a known fact. Anyhow, here is the next chapter and I hope you enjoy! Thank you to all the wonderful people who reviewed, followed, and/or favorited this story. It means a TON :)_

* * *

**IV.**

**A K-Way jacket torn to shreds  
And a dream inside our heads**

* * *

The summer ended in the complete opposite it had started: it was boring, quiet, calm... but still filled with nightmares.

About a month into their new living arrangements Enjolras flat out insisted on Eponine sleeping in the bed. He would take the floor. Eponine refused adamantly, something Enjolras simply couldn't understand. He decided that he was going to win this fight by any means necessary, so he settled on sleeping on the floor as well. While Eponine was curled in front of the fire on her makeshift bed of tattered blankets, Enjolras was lying on the other side of the room. It was a standoff of sorts, a stalemate that would only end when one of them gave in and claimed the bed. Even though he woke with his arm and shoulder aching in the morning, Enjolras was determined to win this one. After all, Eponine had an injury as well. _Was she being noble?_ He highly doubted it, since everything she has ever known had absolutely nothing to do with nobility.

As the stale mate continued, both of them found jobs. For Enjolras it was quite easy. Any employer could see he was educated. When he walked into the law office all golden curls, charisma, and Latin words, he was hired on the spot. Eponine was working at a small millinery: a hat shop. Much to her displeasure, it was Eponine's job to sew numerous amounts of frivolous things onto the hats that would then be shipped to Paris.

They would walk home together, both leaving work at the same time, with Enjolras burying his hands deep in his pockets and Eponine taking off her shoes as soon as they reached the small dirt road. She said it felt strange, wearing shoes all of the time. The dirt beneath her feet felt comforting.

They hadn't talked, not really, since they arrived in Toulouse. Their conversations were mostly conducted like interviews, with Eponine asking questions and Enjolras giving short answers. She would pick up on a topic and talk for a bit while he nodded along, pretending to agree with everything she said while actually trying to fight off the voices in his head. They were walking past a tavern one evening; rowdy men were fighting inside and the stench of alcohol poured into the street. Enjolras picked up his pace, only thinking of Grantaire, when he heard a smash.

Probably it was just a broken glass, the sound of one of the brawlers breaking a window, but to Enjolras it was the barricade. That noise threw him into the past. He ducked and shielded himself from imaginary gunfire, bracing himself for the bullet that would surely kill him. _They are coming_, he thought, _the National Guard will kill me too_.

_Good. I am so tired. _

But instead of a bullet he felt a small hand on his arm. He looked up to see Eponine looking back at him, concern in her large brown eyes. His thoughts were jumbled and very, very fast. He was at the barricade, he was certain. He felt it. Then he was pulled back into the present by Eponine, only to notice the specks of gold in her eyes. _A rush of panic, the gold in her eyes, and the jeers of onlookers because they thought he was afraid of the broken glass._ He shrugged off Eponine's hand and set off toward the house.

They were silent the rest of the way. She almost had to run to keep up with him, for Enjolras it seemed couldn't get to the house fast enough. He made it through the door and he flung off his shoes, his jacket, and headed straight to the wash room.

* * *

**And after changing everything  
They couldn't tell we couldn't sing**

* * *

_Is this what it's going to be like?, _he thought. _Am I going to walk around being afraid of my own shadow? What am I even doing here, in this lonely house with this girl? _He wanted to scream, to cry, to run to Paris this very instant and demand retribution for his pain. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, a shell of the noble man he used to be, and ripped it from the wall.

He was furious. At himself, at the monarchy, at the men in the tavern, at his friends for dieing and leaving him here, for himself yet again because he was angry at the dead…

His sling got caught on that nail in the wall and it startled him, only making him more infuriated. He wanted to rip the thing off, to reverse it and to start again. _Maybe they would win this time, maybe he wouldn't survive…_. What he would give to have died as well. Enjolras tugged at the strap of his sling, hastily and roughly pulling it every which way until it was half off. He pulled again and a searing pain shot through him as he cringed and gritted his teeth. Eponine was there.

"Enjolras?"

"Leave me alone!"

"Please, let me help you."

She was now close to him, trying to put his sling back on his arm so he wouldn't hurt himself again. He knew he sounded and looked insane, but he only wanted to be left alone with it. He could be like the man that lives over the hill, all alone in his head with nothing but his dead friends for comfort. He just wanted her to go away, to let him fall to pieces by himself.

"STOP!"

He shouted at her, loudly and unceremoniously. Right away he expected some sort of retaliation. He was ready to listen to her shout back. Instead they were both still, with sweat on his brow and his chest rising up and down. Eponine was calm, still holding the sling in her hand. She didn't appear to have flinched. She only stared back at him, and he hated himself for thinking once again about the gold in her eyes at a time like this.

He whispered, "Forgive me." Eponine nodded and made to fix his sling once again, but he instinctively flinched away from her touch.

"Please Enjolras, I know what I'm doing."

He nodded and let her gingerly tie another knot in the strap, adjusting his arm at the same time. He watched her face as she did this, her eyes concentrated on her work with the bandage. For the first time something dawned on Enjolras, something he felt ashamed that he had nearly forgotten. He said in a candid manner, "You talk about a lot of things." Her eyes slowly rolled up to meet his again, and he continued. "But you never talk about the barricade."

She finished with the sling in silence and walked away, not saying anything. He stood still for a moment, realizing that the Parisian girl with the dark hair and the gold in her eyes had seen the same things he had. He felt a pang of empathy, and then stopped himself. He was falling apart at the seams and if he wasn't careful he could take Eponine with him. Out of the two of them she at least deserved to remain sane. She, after all, wasn't responsible.

He scowled at himself. He could hear his friends taunting him now, the smell of wine among them. "_The gold in her eyes, Enjolras?! You are noticing the gold of Eponine's eyes? My friends, the stone Apollo is human after all!"_

Enjolras left the washroom, temporarily forgetting the stale mate and lying on the bed which was stiff from not being used. He didn't bother with a blanket; he simply stretched out stiffly on the right side and stared at a crack in the ceiling. He could have been there for a few minutes or a few hours, but somewhere during this haze of blurry thoughts and semi-sleep he felt Eponine lay down beside him.

* * *

_Disclaimer: I don't own any characters pertaining to Les Mis_


	5. Chapter 5

_Quick update! Please let me know what you think of this one, as it holds a lot of meaning for the story. Also, I changed the category to the book "Les Miserables" rather than the play/musical. I just think it fits better. Read on! 3_

* * *

**V.**

**After changing everything  
They couldn't tell we couldn't sing**

* * *

It was like this for a while. No more had been mentioned about the barricade or Enjolras' display of weakness, as he thought of it. The countryside developed a chill and the ground was overtaken by a small frost every morning that melted well into the afternoon.

Eponine's job was going well, and Enjolras had to admit to himself that he hadn't expected her to last very long. With a life like she has had, being thrust into a regular job and stopping virtually everything she has ever known, he really did expect the authorities to catch her stealing or doing some other questionable deed. To his surprise, Eponine thrived at the millinery.

Enjolras, of course, did very well at the lawyer's office. He worked at a desk with books piled around him, a candle to his left, and with the noise of the street drowned out by the thick paneled walls. He would translate documents for the lawyer, Monsieur Rousso, as well as do other research work.

Their lives settled into the small town easily, although Eponine found it easier than Enjolras. She had become friendly with a few of the other young women who worked at the shop, and Enjolras would see them commiserating outside the entrance when he walked by at the end of the day. She would smile and join him on their walk home. Enjolras marveled at how she seemed like such a child at times, stopping to look in store windows or pick the last remaining wildflowers before the frost got to them.

As was mentioned, Eponine had adjusted well. Her thin body had acquired a shape, although still a small one. Her dark face no longer was sunken but healthy, and the blue dress she wore to work was slowly filled in by the subtle curves of her body. The layers of grime and dirt left over from Paris had slowly been washed away; her dark wavy hair fanned out behind her as she whipped around to look at something or greet someone on the street.

Enjolras walked briskly and with purpose, never deviating his gaze from the road in front of him. He was vaguely aware of a few town girls making eyes at him, whispering behind hands and giggling. Even though he appeared a bit cold, he still possessed a noble stance and seemed to be known to those girls as very handsome indeed. All of this, of course, was unknown to him. Eponine was the only one to notice these silly girls gawk at him, and she would often find herself sending menacing looks in their direction. They were supposed to be married, after all, and this behavior certainly wasn't appropriate.

Of course, they didn't act as though they were married. Other than accompanying each other on their walks to town and back home, little affection was shared. They still hardly knew each other, after all, but the people in town didn't know that. Once in a while their shoulders would brush, sending panic waves through Enjolras' mind and causing him to take a step away from the girl. After a few instances like this it was no longer panic that was shooting through him, but something else, so he made a point to keep a safe distance between himself and Eponine.

The day of the first snow came quickly it seemed, and although it was only an inch or two Eponine was delighted. The snow turned brown and dirty in Paris, she told him, and now that she had proper shoes and a place to sleep she could enjoy the way the delicate powder blanketed the hills and the rooftops. Several children in town had lit candles and placed them on the branches of an evergreen tree along the road, already feeling the excitement surrounding Christmas time even though it was still quite a ways away. Eponine had grabbed Enjolras' wrist and pointed to the tree, lit up and seeming to glow in the dim light of the evening. He let her look so that they could move on, but she turned to look at him with that smirk on her face, the one he was now so accustomed to.

"Really Enjolras, you don't have to be so stuffy all the time!"

She had started calling him Enjolras, and he had started calling her Eponine, the day the barriers came down for a brief moment around them both after the incident at the tavern. It went unmentioned.

She let go of his sleeve and traipsed off on her own down the road, stopping only to light a candle herself and place it on a branch. She turned to smile at him but he didn't register it; he was busy trying to ground himself after her finger tips had grazed his skin and sent a shock wave down his arm. He didn't like it, he felt like a war torn old man next to her bright eyes and young, delicate features.

* * *

**They couldn't tell we couldn't sing  
And that changes everything.**

* * *

Only at night did Enjolras let his guard down, because even marble statues need to remember what it's like to be human, even if he would never admit it himself. It starts small, like the frozen ground and the nightly chill.

The bed was big enough for a small amount of distance, but the weather was turning colder. In their wisdom their bodies grew closer under the cotton and wool blankets, little by little retreating deeper into each other. It started with Eponine lying on her side, inching closer to Enjolras' chest and curling into a tight ball as close as possible without actually touching him. Another night one of her small legs is draped over his, one of his arms finds itself draped over her small waist; he seeks unconscious comfort by resting his face amongst her dark hair as she finally relents and rests her small head against his chest.

In the morning their eyes wouldn't meet and their skin wouldn't touch. It was as if it didn't happen, and after a while Enjolras began to think it was his own damaged mind playing tricks on a lonely survivor of the barricade. It was due to the events of one night that he confirmed it wasn't his ailing mind.

Eponine had been quieter than usual on the walk home, and he knew it was one of those days. They would both have them from time to time, when they would wake and be burdened by the barricade, out of nowhere it seemed, and being unable to shake the feeling. She was silent on the way home, her usual smile only half of what it usually was, and Enjolras recognized it in her eyes. They were both so accustomed that it didn't need to be vocalized.

That night Eponine had elected to sleep on her side and turned away from Enjolras, leaving several inches of cold space between them. He realized (much to his dissatisfaction) that he felt odd without her warm body next to his when he heard a muffled whimper, and he knew she was crying. It only took one word, her name,_ "Eponine"_, spoken aloud for the girl to slowly turn over and bury herself in Enjolras' chest. He breathed in the smell of her hair, a bit flowery from the millinery, before he knew he was in trouble.

* * *

_Disclaimer: I don't own any characters pertaining to Les Mis_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello! Sorry about that ridiculous wait, but I had a serious case of writers block. Thank you all for the reviews and follows! Each one really means a lot. This chapter will feature a new song, 'In Our Bedroom After the War' also by Stars. Their lyrics are VERY suited for the barricade boys, can't you tell? I hope you enjoy this one, and PLEASE REVIEW! xoxo_

* * *

**VI. **

**Wake up! Say good morning to that sleepy person lying next to you  
If there's no one there, then there's no one there, but at least the war is over  
It's us - yes, we're back again, here to see you through, 'til the days end  
And if the night comes, and the night will come, well at least the war is over**

* * *

Before Eponine had arrived at their humble abode, Enjolras had been alternating between reading one of his law books at the kitchen table and stocking the fire with fire wood, which was currently running low. Eponine had been about an hour late coming back from work, which was quite normal considering the time of year. She had walked in with a sly manner about her and a larger than usual smile on her face, which Enjolras knew at once meant something was going on. When asked, Eponine replied as she was hanging her cloak on its hook,

"Do you remember Madame Prince, from the millenary? I told you the other day that her husband passed and she was having trouble getting funds for Christmas." She brushed the snow from her dark hair.

Enjolras muttered, "Sure," because he faintly remembered Eponine telling him something of that sort last week while they were walking home. She smiled from ear to ear, her whole face glowing, and said, "Well, let's just say that they will have a ham for Christmas! The children may get shoes as well!"

Enjolras nodded, not quite happy enough for the Prince family because he still sensed something under the surface of Eponine's smile.

"How exactly did the good Madame come into this sudden good fortune?"

Under Enjolras' steely blue stare her smile faltered a bit, and with an edge to her voice she answered him, "Monsieur Tally at the shop gave her a loan, what of it?"

"As I remember it, Eponine, you were complaining only last week that Monsieur Tally was extremely rude and pompous? Madame Prince was one of his least favorites, as you said."

Now it was Eponine's turn to look up at Enjolras, her doe eyes losing their spark and her jaw muscles tightened.

"I did not think you listened so intently."

"It does not matter how I listen, Eponine. Did you have something to do with this?"

She huffed and brushed past Enjolras, practically stomping across the room and then turning on her heel. Enjolras had turned towards her and was met with the full force of an angry Eponine.

"Do not scold me as if I am your child, Enjolras!"

"What did you do?"

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, taking a step closer to the imposing figure that was Enjolras. It startled him a bit, with Eponine so close to him, and also to know that she was the only one to have ever challenged him so fiercely. She told him through gritted teeth,

"I pick pocketed that rich old man who lives at the edge of town, the snooty one with the beard."

Enjolras ran his hands through his golden hair and took a deep breath, turning his gaze from Eponine, to the fireplace and then back to the girl.

"Do you have any idea how foolish you are?!"

Eponine, her cheeks flushed red with anger, crossed her arms over her chest and held her feet firmly planted on the ground. This was the "Thenardier stance", as Enjolras had named it in his head. He was equally as flustered, now standing directly in front of her with his lips pursed and his arms stiffly held at his sides.

"I do not see why you have to be so difficult!"

"Difficult?! Eponine, you infuriate me!"

"Well, this may surprise you, but I do not exist to please you!"

"I do not matter, what matters is that we stay here undetected by the law! Do you know what would happen if they find out we are here in hiding?! You put us both in danger!"

"I was only trying to help! And besides, I wanted to see if I could still manage it. It went off without a hitch."

Enjolras rolled his eyes and took a breath.

"Well, fantastic then! I am so glad your thievery went well!"

"Do not mock me!"

She brushed past Enjolras yet again and made her way to the other room, huffing as she pulled her unruly hair back into a bun and tied it with a ribbon that she kept on the top of the set of drawers. Enjolras took the few steps to follow her, determined to make her understand the magnitude of her actions. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Eponine whipped around and continued their heated exchange, causing him to take a step back.

"What I did might have been against the law, Enjolras, but that doesn't mean that it was not right! Madame Prince was in need and that mean old man has more money than he knows what to do with! He won't even know it is gone!"

Enjolras scoffed and spread his arms in a gesture of frustration. His brow creased as he responded to the small - though imposing, he had to admit- dark girl before him.

"Do not behave as if this was an act of nobility! You put us both in danger, you…"

He couldn't continue because Eponine's expression was filled with fire; there was a tangible difference in the room as she yelled back at him.

"NOBILITY?! HOW DARE YOU!" She even reached forward to push him a bit, causing his mouth to hang slightly open and his brow to furrow in surprise.

"What I did has been done and will continue to be done by thousands of people all over France! It has _nothing_ to do with nobility, Enjolras; it has to do with survival! Forgive me for not thinking of your wellbeing when these people are starving! That was my life back in Paris, but no one was around to help me! My family and I had nothing to eat for days, I froze in the winter, I haven't had a pair of shoes for ten years, I've been to jail, did you know that!? I bet you have never gone hungry in your life! You have always had clothes and a place to sleep! You have never sweated until the barricade! You say you and your friends fought for the people, but you know nothing about what it is to really be a citizen of the real France, _Monsieur_!"

Her words stung him much like the bullet that had been taken from his flesh. She was right, and he hated it. What would his friends think of him now? Surely Grantaire would have a dark remark about social affairs, Feuilly would liken their situation to Poland, and Bahorel, with his peasant background, would be ashamed.

Enjolras, thoroughly shaken, couldn't seem to do anything but stand and stare at Eponine. He could feel her hot breath on his face; he was sweating even though it was snowing out. For the first time in his life he couldn't think of a smart retort or a supporting argument.

Eponine took a step back, brushed a dark strand of hair behind her ear and tucked it into her ribbon, then stepped around him and muttered, "I'm getting more firewood."

Enjolras turned around and said the only thing he could think of, "Eponine, you forgot your cloak," but she had already shut the door.

* * *

**Lift your head and look out the window  
Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go  
Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!  
All the living are dead, and the dead are all living  
The war is over and we are beginning...**

* * *

She returned after a while with only an arm full of firewood and unceremoniously dropped it onto the wash room floor. Enjolras was already eating his supper, some bread and cheese, when hunger got the better of her and she joined him in silence.

Some of the tension from earlier had decimated, both parties realizing that the other had valid points. Enjolras was thoroughly humbled, but he would never admit it to her. Half way through their bread he looked at her and said, "You forgot your cloak. You must have been cold."

He slowly rolled his eyes toward her, only to find Eponine looking down at her plate with a small smile on her face. She said without looking up,

"I accept your apology, Enjolras."

And in the moment he almost hated saying it, for now he was left arguing with himself about how frustratingly endearing she was.

That night, like usual, he held her close to his chest. Her small ankle was hooked around his, his hand was resting on her small back, and he fell asleep to the sound of her quiet breathing.

* * *

_Disclaimer: I don't own any characters pertaining to Les Mis_


	7. Chapter 7

_Hey everyone! SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT. Just a really horrible case of writers block, I suppose. Well, enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think! As always, reviews are better than cookies. And to the reviewer who wants to use the same sort-of beginning in their own fanfic: Of course! Writers take from everything they read, so be my guest :D_

* * *

**VII.**

**Gridlock on the parkway now, the television man is here to show you how  
The channle fades to snow, it's off to work you go, but at least the war is over**

* * *

The day was certainly not turning out to be a particularly favorable one for Enjolras. He had been forced to work much later than usual, about four hours, because his co-worker (whom Enjolras believed to be even more incompetent than the monarchy) had decided to not come into the law office at all. Doing the work of two men was not a new phenomenon for him, but he nonetheless found it quite annoying. Walking home in the dark much later than he was used to, he stumbled over dips in the road and fought with his growling stomach which was growing more and more impatient. '_I hope Eponine has something waiting_', he thought wistfully, but he knew it that wasn't going to happen.

Hungry enough for even Eponine's cooking; he picked up his pace until the familiar glow of his small home came into sight.

Once through the door he hung his overcoat on its designated hook and looked around. He couldn't place it, but something was different. He asked into the empty room,

"Eponine?"

Eponine, clad in her nightdress and slippers, emerged from the other side of the partition without making eye contact. She turned her back to him, her long dark hair flowing freely behind her, took a small bowl from one of the shelves, and filled it with water from the bucket on the floor.

Enjolras thought this behavior odd, but looked past it and decided to pay attention to the knawing in his stomach. He asked her as he brushed the snow from his curly hair,

"Did you happen to make supper, Eponine?"

She had disappeared behind the partition once again, taking the bowl with her. Her voice was muffled by the wall when she answered, 'There is some chicken and bread on the shelf. We are out of wine.'

_She probably drank it all,_ Enjolras thought as he unceremoniously grabbed a plate and piled cold chicken and slightly stale bread onto it. Sometimes Eponine would take it upon herself to drain their wine supply when she would find herself particularly bored, which suited Enjolras just fine. She was accustomed to the alcohol and didn't become intoxicated, while he preferred water. The taste of wine was still foreign and a bit sad to him. He took a large bite of bread and looked up to see Eponine standing in front of him.

Her hands were clasped behind her back, and a toothy smile was spread across her face. Her eyes were sparkling with a hint of mischief. He swallowed his food roughly and said, "Yes?"

She kept smiling. "I may have found something on my way home today."

Enjolras titled his head to the side and took another bite of bread.

"You _may_ have found something?"

"Oh, stop being so snarky! I _did_ find something, and I know you are not going to like it."

"Is that why you look so happy, then?" She ignored his quip and continued, "Now, before you get cross with me, I do promise to bring it back tomorrow. It's just that it's so cold out, and the children in town are awful, they would have probably done something to-"

"Eponine!"

Enjolras interrupted her hurried babbling and motioned for her to settle down, already dreading the whole situation. "Just tell me, what on earth did you find?"

She took a deep breath and turned on her heel, disappearing one last time into the bedroom and returning with what Enjolras thought was a rat at first glance. At second glance, the small mewing thing in Eponine's hands was a kitten.

The tiny thing was scrawny, a bit mangy, and did not appear to like being held in Eponine's grasp one bit. It had white fur but dirty paws, one ear was drooping slightly and a small yellow patch of fur was on the very top of its head.

She finally gave in to the creatures incessant mewing and squirming, setting it down on the floor where it clumsily pawed at the ragged hem of her nightdress.

While the dark girl looked absolutely delighted, Enjolras had a scowl plastered across his handsome face.

"Eponine..."

"Yes?" She swished her skirts to further tease the creature as she answered, not looking up at Enjolras once. She was certainly something else.

"We are not keeping that thing in the house."

"Oh, and since when are you in charge?" She stopped swishing and placed her hands on her hips. "I did say I would only keep him for tonight! He was all alone, in the snow, and I know that those dreadful LeBlanc boys would have hurt him! There is a stable, down the street from the butchers, where he can catch mice and sleep in the hay. That's where I'll take him tomorrow."

It was more of an order than anything. And what did she mean _in charge_? Enjolras had never not been in charge. And if he wasn't, then who was? Certainly not Eponine, although she talked like she was. No, this skinny street girl wasn't about to start making joint decisions.

"Alright, but I do not approve. One bit. I mean it, Eponine."

Alright, she would make the decisions just this one time. He was in no mood to argue further with her, and he was too tired to care as much as he would have normally. He had to admit, the stupid thing did seem to make her happy. He found himself enjoying the smile on her lips and the way her dark hair moved as she swished her skirts for it to play with. No, being this tired was certainly not having appropriate effects in his mind. He took a bite of chicken and bread, and then turned his gaze to the snow swirling in the dark in an attempt to think of other things. He heard her say as she scooped up the kitten and walked back into the bedroom,

"We can meet half-way, we could name him _Liberte_ or _Robespierre_ or something."

Enjolras raised one eyebrow at this and stood up from the table, his dinner gone. He brushed past her, his brown jacket brushing against the sleeve of her soft white nightdress, and said, "_We_ are not naming it anything."

_Why would we have co-ownership of the little rat, anyway? This is purely Eponine's doing_, Enjolras thought as he roughly removed his boots and sat at his desk. He heard a soft huff from Eponine as she sat down by the fire with the kitten in her arms, now playing with the long strands of her hair.

He opened one of the books he had been revisiting, a book summarizing the French kings, and tried to get Eponine's smile out of his mind. He was quite sick of being both annoyed and flustered by her in the same moment.

The desk was stacked with books and parchment; mostly just notes and observations. Enjolras used to do this after his classes and before meetings at the café, looking for good speech-making points and loopholes in laws. It had felt strange, these past months, to not ruffle though the old pages every once in a while. He had slowly fallen back into it, making new notes on his old notes. He had to stay busy, right? That's what he remembers reading about war survivors, anyway. Busy is good. Although, he hardly considered himself a survivor of war. It had felt like it at the time, bullets flying past his head and his friends falling dead around him, but it only lasted two days. Two days didn't make a war; he couldn't put a name to what he had gone through. Not quite a revolution, not quite a war. Maybe it was nothing, after all.

As he was reviewing a piece on Louis XVII he felt something tug at the fabric of his trousers. He looked down to find the rat, his small claws stuck on the clean hem. He looked back to his books and impatiently pushed it away with his foot. He muttered, _"Get away!"_

Only a moment later he felt the same small tug and looked down once again to see the kitten, at it again. "I said, get away!"

Instead of being deterred by Enjolras' scolding, Eponine's new pet decided to leap onto his lap.

"Eponine!"

Eponine, who up until then had been stocking the fire with more wood, laughed and walked over to fetch the kitten. She scooped him up and said, "I think I shall call you _Enjolras_. You are about as stubborn as the original, after all." She placed the kitten by the fire again, where she had set up a small bowl of water, a few small pieces of chicken, and a ratty old hand cloth for a makeshift bed. It obediently pawed at the cloth a few times, then curled up and shut its eyes.

"What are you reading, anyway?"

He sighed and shut the book, getting up from the desk and effectively giving up on anything productive. "Nothing."

Once he reached the bed and turned he layed on his back, pulling the thick woolen blanket around him and staring up at the ceiling. He felt Eponine crawl in next to him, hardly making a sound. She was like a street mouse.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Eponine."

"I am not stupid; I can tell something is wrong. You don't have to tell me why, but at least admit to it."

He didn't answer her, still staring up at a crack in the ceiling. He just wanted to disappear for a while, sleep for a few months and maybe it wouldn't be so hard. Life, just life. Living with it, with the memories of the barricade, was exhausting.

"It won't help, you know."

Enjolras turned to look at her, curled up on her side and facing him. Behind her, the light from the fire lit her up like something from a fairytale.

"It won't help if you shut it all up inside of you. It will have to come out eventually."

He looked away from her and back at the ceiling without saying a word, knowing that what she said was true but not wanting to do anything about it.

"I was there too, Enjolras."

She didn't say it with an accusing tone, meant to be mean. It was more of an offer, like she was telling him she knew what he was feeling and she wanted to help. Or just listen, because help didn't seem all that realistic. He looked over at her again and replied,

"I know, Eponine."

His voice was soft, like hers had been. What he really wanted to tell her was that he was sorry, that he was the one who led them all to their deaths. If anyone was responsible for her pain, for _his_ pain, it was himself. He never meant to hurt anyone, let alone someone like Eponine.

He felt her thin fingers intertwine themselves around his cold and callused ones. She had moved toward him only a few inches, her head close to his and her eyes now closed. He stared at her like that for a few moments. He traced the delicate lines of her face with his eyes and was overcome with the need to do something for her, to kiss her on the forehead or the cheek to let her know just how sorry he really was. He settled for softly squeezing her hand, resulting in a small smile on Eponine's face that Enjolras could tell she tried not to show.

* * *

_Disclaimer: I don't own any characters pertaining to Les Mis_


	8. Chapter 8

_WOW, this one took a long time. It's worth it though, I promise! It's longer and there are some pretty exciting developments :D Please review with your thoughts and ideas! Really though, reviews man. They give me life. Happy reading! _

* * *

**VIII.**

**She's gone, she left before you woke, as you ate last night, neither of you spoke  
Dishes, TV, bed the darkness filled with dread, but at least the war is over**

* * *

The holiday season was by far Enjolras' least favorite time of year. All of the festivities and silly customs served as unwelcome distractions from the café meetings. All of his fellow revolutionaries, Grantaire leading the pack, would use Christmas and the coming New Year as an excuse to be incoherently drunk for almost a full month. He had always expected no work to get done at all. Without anywhere to go for Christmas, Enjolras was usually alone in the back room of the café with his books and papers with the sounds of drunken festivities surrounding him.

This year, in a stark contrast, all he had was Eponine to contend with. She was no better than his friends, worse even, because it was only the two of them and Eponine didn't make it a habit to get drunk, and therefore, distracted.

The days of December passed quickly, the small town booming with merriment. The main hub of town, being not too poor or too wealthy, would have a few modest celebrations on Christmas Eve, according to Eponine. Enjolras cursed these parties whenever they were mentioned, dreading (but expecting all the same) that he would have to make an appearance. Eponine, her arm hooked around his as they walked to work, seemed bursting at the seams with excitement about the idea of a party. How would it look, after all, if her official unofficial husband did not accompany her to said party? For the most part Enjolras ignored the horrid details and simply enjoyed how Eponine talked about them. She had never seemed to him to be a frivolous party going girl, but this was the first year she actually had the option. Enjolras expected the idea of the holiday festivities wasn't what excited her, it was the fact that she was actually _allowed_ to go to them. She didn't have to spend the evening waiting in the snow to pick the pockets of Parisians who came stumbling out of taverns, or begging to the ones who stepped out of churches.

"Oh, and Madame Tully said that I could borrow her oldest daughters dress for the occasion. Did I tell you about that yet? At the party Monsieur Augustine will be hosting, it is customary for the women to wear all white. We will also have crowns of sorts, woven out of evergreen twigs and holly, with a white ribbon too, I think. Doesn't that sound nice? I don't remember anything like that when I was a child. We put out our shoes for _Pere Noel_; did you do that as well? Or do bourgeois children simply have too many presents?" She smiled up at him and he scoffed playfully, revealing that he used to lay out every pair of his shoes instead of just one when he was small, trying to trick Pere Noel into giving him more.

Eponine laughed at this small detail of Enjolras' life, before he became so socially minded and serious.

After a few more conversations like these it was clear to Enjolras that he was indeed accompanying Eponine to Monsieur Augustine's Christmas Eve celebration. It wasn't left up to him, really, because Eponine simply hadn't given him the opportunity to say otherwise. Accustomed to his usual hatred of social events where there wasn't a protest to be had, Enjolras was caught off guard when the day of the party came and he found himself to be nervous. Why in the world would he be? Growing up in a wealthy family taught him social graces and introduced him to these sorts of things early in life, so it couldn't be that.

Eponine had brought home the dress Madame Tully had promised her and hung it on a hook in the small back room in order not to get in wrinkled or dirty. Enjolras, as a man, didn't need hardly any time to prepare. He settled on reviewing one of his many books at his desk while Eponine brushed her hair and sat on the bed, looking out the window at the snow. It was bitterly cold outside, and even the sturdy cottage couldn't keep out all of the wind. She shivered as another harsh wind blew through the countryside.

"Do you know how to dance?"

Oh, dancing. He had forgotten about the dancing. He answered begrudgingly,

"Yes, I suppose, though it's not something I pride myself on. I had to learn early, as a member of my family. Sons of wealthy merchants don't grow up not knowing all the social graces."

"Your father was a merchant?"

He certainly did not want to talk about his family, let alone his father. Letting that small detail slip had been a mistake. Ignoring Eponine's question, he decided to ask her one.

"Do you know? How to dance, that is."

"I do, actually. Madame Tully has been good to me; she would sometimes teach me simple steps when Monsieur Tally sent us out for his lunch. Why, were you afraid that you would have had to teach me?"

Eponine let out a small laugh at her own joke, but Enjolras continued his reading. He must have read the same line three times by now. This party, everything about it… it didn't rest well with him. Dancing, drinking, mistletoe, making small talk with strangers about nothing… dancing… dancing with Eponine. All of a sudden he broke out in a sweat. Eponine, with her swishing skirts and golden eyes, dancing with him. Close to him. He would be posing as her husband and she as his wife. How was he to go about this? The other day, when she hooked her arm around his on their way to work… he was flustered then! He hated to admit it, but he was completely and utterly clueless about women. About this one, in particular, he realized.

_Hold on, Enjolras, quit over thinking this. How many girls did you have to dance with at your father's stupid parties?_ _God, they were all so dull and pathetic. How did Courfeyrac and the rest ever manage?_

"Enjolras!"

She had been trying to get his attention for a few minutes, he realized, when he came out of his thoughts and looked at her in response. She was standing now, tying her black cloak around her, and looking slightly worried.

"Do you even want to go? I know this sort of thing isn't really something you enjoy. I can say that you're sick, or…"

"Eponine, its fine." He smiled slightly to let her know he meant it. One party, to see her smile after everything she went through at the barricade – after everything Enjolras blamed himself for – he could manage.

* * *

**Lift your head and look out the window**  
**Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go**  
**Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!**

* * *

Thankfully, it wasn't as rowdy as Enjolras expected. Monsieur Augustine owned a fairly large but modest tavern near the center of town, and it seemed most of the townspeople had shown up. Monsieur Augustine was a portly man, white haired and short, and very kind. He greeted everyone as they entered with a smile, all the while holding a tankard of wine in his hand and laughing at an unheard joke. Also a relief, it wasn't as formal as Enjolras had thought. There was a table for drinks and a band in the corner, playing lively songs to the full room. People were doing jigs and line dances, sometimes a waltz was thrown in, and in between it all a few small children weaved in and out of the crowds, making up their own dances as they went along. A few fire places and candles in the windows gave the room a soft glow that made the whole building feel like a cozy house. As Eponine said, all the women were clad in white dresses and woven holly crowns.

Actually, Enjolras hadn't yet seen the white dress Eponine was allowed to borrow for the evening. She had thrown on her cloak quickly because of the cold before they left for the walk into town.

Beautiful. She was beautiful, and even Enjolras with his stubborn mind had to admit it. The dress was made of a soft white material that barley brushed the floor, overlaid in delicate white lace and cinched slightly at her waist. A strip of the same white lace was tied directly underneath her bodice.

Her dark hair was let loose around her shoulders and held back ever so slightly by her woven crown, offsetting the golden glow of her soft brown eyes. Her skin, in the candle light especially, looked lovely next to the white of the dress. It was the color of coffee with milk.

He caught himself staring, even blushing a bit when Eponine noticed. He fully expected her to make a joke at his expense and perhaps laugh, but she just smiled at him and locked her eyes with his. An older man to the left of Enjolras exclaimed in a rough voice,

"Easy, boy! Keep staring at her like that and we'll have to empty the place!" He patted him on the back roughly, accompanied by the laughter of a few of the men who overheard the joke.

Son of a bitch. If he wasn't blushing before, he was now. Not only did he let himself slip, he let himself slip in public. In front of people. In front of _Eponine_.

He managed an awkward chuckle as another man patted him on the back and shot a saucy wink at Eponine. He looked back toward her, his face scrunched in sheepish embarrassment, and was relieved to find a smile spread across her face.

"Dance with me, bourgeois boy."

She pulled him towards her, turning fast and practically hitting him in the face with her long wavy hair. Then she turned, abruptly, and started dancing right away. It took Enjolras a moment to find his footing, to figure out what dance it was, and to calm himself down. Eponine laughed good naturedly at him, and he fell into step soon enough.

He placed one hand on her back while his other hand gripped hers, stepping where he needed to and guiding them both across the dance floor. The beat picked up and he twirled her away from him then pulled her back in, holding her fully against him for a split second until the dance called for her to step away.

It was turning out to be a perfectly fine evening, after all. Eponine laughed as Enjolras twirled her away yet again and pulled her back in, with confidence this time instead of uneasiness. It was a gorgeous laugh. She titled her head back in a every "Eponine" fashion, her toothy smile reaching the corners of her face. Enjolras' focus moved over her, over every part of her, while they were dancing.

Her thin fingers gripped his shoulder when she missed a step, falling toward him only an inch or two more but it seemed like she was impossibly close to him. He could feel the outline of her body against his.

_Get it together. Get it together. Just try to get it a little bit together. At least make it look like you have it together. I really should have not had that sip of wine an hour and a half ago when we got here._

He felt mad, absolutely mad.

A loud noise pulled him out of his haze. A rather drunk middle aged man had stumbled a bit too close to the drink table, knocking over a mug of wine but otherwise harming nothing. Enjolras looked towards the commotion for a split second, and then felt himself being pulled quickly to the side of the room and practically pushed against the wall. Eponine was flush against him, one of his arms still around her waist, and while one of her hands was still on his shoulder the other was gripping his arm rather tightly right under the crook of his elbow.

"Eponine?"

"Are you alright? I didn't know, with the crash… I just didn't want you to have another flash back. Enjolras?"

Was that actually a hint of concern in Eponine's eyes? Amongst the gold and the brown, Enjolras saw worry. Caught off guard, by her actions and eyes alike, he stammered slightly when he answered.

"What? No, Eponine, I'm fine. Really, it's, uh… thank you."

She smiled ever so slightly at him. Enjolras didn't feel upset with her, as he thought he might. Maybe a few months ago, he would have chastised her for babying him, for thinking he wasn't coping. For thinking he was weak. But instead he was… touched. He did mean it. He did mean the quiet "thank you" he had muttered rather clumsily to her.

It seemed like these past months he was trying to fix himself, to look out for his own reactions and come to terms with everything. It didn't work. And now, with Eponine still in his arms in this crowded room, he came to the conclusion that it wasn't supposed to. Who can fix themselves? No one, no one can. Being thrown into this strange town with this strange woman healed him more than he knew it would, because now they could look out for each other. It was just that up until now, they had looked out for each other at night and wrapped up under warm wool blankets. He held her when she cried and they didn't talk about it the next day. She held his hand as she crawled into bed when he was being cross, because she knew it was only because he was being bombarded with flash backs and guilt trips that he didn't know how to control.

Enjolras had become a different person in the past months. It was two different worlds, summer and winter. He was forced to cope with the barricade, with the loss of his friends, with everything he knows being ripped out from under him. It knocked him over and he wasn't sure he would ever stand up again. What the history books don't tell you is what happens after everything. The French Monarchy would get a tally mark for this one; they would be talked about as the victor. Who got to tell the story of those at the barricade? Who writes that down? What happens when the bright young leader has no one to lead and nothing to preach about? What if Goliath had a noble cause, had people he was fighting for… but only Daniel's story was written down?

Enjolras, not knowing much else, knew then that no matter how hard this had all been, Eponine had made it that much easier.

"Enjolras?"

Eponine's soft voice reached him amongst the noise of the party around them. He snapped back into the present, realizing Eponine had been trying to get his attention for the past few minutes.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, Eponine."

She smiled down at her feet and let out a sigh.

"Would you like to dance with me again?"

* * *

**All the living are dead, and the dead are all living**  
**The war is over and we are beginning...**

* * *

About two hours later, everyone in the tavern had had their fill of dancing and drinking. The townspeople where filtering out of the celebration in pairs, stepping into the quiet and snowy Christmas Eve night. After thanking Monsieur Augustine and saying farewell to Eponine's work friends, Eponine and Enjolras joined the dwindling crowd in stepping out into the darkness. It was snowing slowly, but the snowflakes were thick and sticking to everything they touched. Eponine's dark hair and cloak were blanketed in seconds, and Enjolras' golden curls were delicately framed.

They reached the edge of town, arms linked, and Eponine spoke up.

"I'm glad you decided to come, bourgeoisie boy. I know you don't usually make it a habit of attending those sorts of social events."

"It was no inconvenience, Eponine. It is nothing I'm not accustomed to."

"Yes, you mentioned your father held similar events. Are you ever going to tell me about them? Are you ever going to tell me anything? Or will I have to accept the mysterious figure that is Enjolras?"

She laughed and he chuckled.

_He chuckled. _Really, that sip of wine must have been too much.

The truth was, he wanted to tell her everything. He was perplexed, to say the least, about this evening and what it had seemed to do to him. Every nerve in his body was super sensitive to Eponine's touch. He had almost fallen over when her finger tips grazed his wrist as they exited the tavern. And when she gently shifted her weight while walking to lean on him, he had to pace himself in order not to walk too fast and fall over from a sensory overload.

He wanted to tell her everything about him. His life, his unpleasant childhood memories, his unpleasant _adult_ memories… he wanted to share all of his memories from the barricade and the questions he had about them. He wanted to know her favorite color, the town she was born in, where she learned to read, what she wanted to do with her life…

He was willing to listen and to tell and perhaps even hold her while he did it. Maybe resting his hand on the small of her back would be appropriate or leaning close to her so he could smell her hair…

He practically fell over as they were walking; Eponine had to stop in her tracks and was almost knocked to the ground herself. He seemed to regain his composure after a moment, telling Eponine he must have tripped on a rock hidden by the snow.

The thing about coming to terms with things, like the barricade, happens too fast and too slow all at once and you don't notice either one is happening until it's over and nothing can be done about it. This is what Enjolras was feeling at this moment, but not about the barricade.

His mind was clouded the rest of the night, right up until they walked through the door and Eponine fell into bed without even taking her shoes off. Enjolras didn't shake the snow from his hair, didn't remember to shut the door behind him…

And was left lying in bed staring at the figure next to him who was already asleep, too awake to doze off. He had to stay awake practically all through the night, coping with the fact that he had fallen in love with Eponine. And it was entirely too late.

* * *

_Disclaimer: I don't own any characters pertaining to Les Mis_


	9. Chapter 9

_[ SOBS INTO KEYBOARD BECAUSE THIS CHAPTER IS SO. DAMN. EMOTIONAL. THAT IS WHY IT TOOK SO LONG UGH I AM LITERALLY THE WORST OKAY BUT PLEASE REVIEW LIKE THAT WOULD MEAN SO MUCH XOXO ] _

* * *

**IX.**

**We won, or we think we did, when you went away, you were just a kid  
And if you lost it all, and you lost it, we will still be there when the war is over**

* * *

When Enjolras woke it was still partially dark outside, and the room had that light blue hue that is unique to the early morning. There was a chilly edge to the air, but Enjolras was warm next to Eponine. Her dark head was tucked into the crook of his neck; her mouth was slightly parted and her lips were slightly brushing his collar bone. One of his arms was under her and wrapped snugly around her waist. Her ankle was hooked around his.

He watched her for a moment, quiet and calm, her small chest rising up and down with her breathing. Not wanting to move away from their snug little nest, he strained his eyes to look out the window. Snow was still coming down thick and fast; the clock on the desk told him they would need to be at work in an hour.  
But, wait, it was Christmas. Enjolras had forgotten. No work today, for either of them. He turned back to a sleeping Eponine and rested his blonde head back onto his pillow, which was mostly taken up by Eponine and her dark mane of hair. The contours of her face were even more pronounced in the dim dark morning light, and a few sprigs of holly were still tangled in her hair from her flower crown.

But all this did - the vision of Eponine sleeping in his arms - reminded him of his dilemma the night before. He had suspected it for a while, that the Parisian girl had worked her way under his marble skin, but last night was like a swift punch to the stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to settle down again, to take advantage of the extra sleep he might be able to obtain, but the warm outline of Eponine's body pressed to his felt entirely too real.

Letting go of her, regrettably, Enjolras slowly slipped away from her while trying not to make any noise to wake her. When he was standing she felt the absence of his body next to hers she clung to the thick woolen blankets in her sleep, sighing and pulling them closer.

He made his way to the small kitchen, not bothering to tuck in his shirt or button the collar. For once in his life, Enjolras allowed himself a fraction of laziness. He was too distracted, anyway, by the emptiness in his arms.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, splashed cold water on his face from the basin on the kitchen counter, and pushed some blonde burls from his face. Coffee sounded like a wonderful idea. He put some water in the pot and placed it next to the fire, which he also stocked up. It was hot in no time, so he grabbed the two pewter mugs and filled them with the rich liquid.

He knows how she likes her coffee: black with two spoonfuls of sugar. He puts the same in his and walks back into the bedroom half of the house, finding Eponine to still be asleep. Placing her coffee on the small table next to the bed, he decides to sit at his desk and pretend to flip through his books.

What was he to do? Could he tell her? Absolutely not. Was this ache in his heart going to go away? Absolutely not.

Eponine stirred, rolling over amongst the covers and stretching. It seems the aroma of fresh coffee had woken her up. Her eyes opened and focused on the coffee resting on the bedside table. Her head then tilted in Enjolras' direction, because she knows him well enough to know where he likes to drink his coffee in the morning.

"You made me coffee?"

Her voice was still sluggish with sleep.

"Yes."

A smile crept across her face as she lifted the mug to her lips, relishing the warmth in her hands.

"Thank you."

A moment of silence passed, Eponine sipping her coffee and Enjolras pretending to read. Was it just his imagination, his tired mind... or did he suspect she was looking at him differently as well? He shook it off. He was sure it was only his hopefulness playing tricks on him. He was nothing more than the man over the hill, the one they were told about on their first day. The old man trapped in his own mind with no one and nothing. When the time comes for them to return to Paris, he is sure that's what will happen. Eponine will continue to smile and make witty remarks, continue to live... and he will fall off of the earth.  
He hears Eponine fall back onto the bed and curl amongst the sheets once again.

"Why are you not sleeping? It's Christmas! The one day we get to sleep in, and you're up at dawn reading. Really, you are something."

A small smile crept across her face. Enjolras wasn't feeling tired at all, but the thought of returning to bed did seem like a good one. He took one last gulp of his coffee and relented.

As he slipped under the covers Eponine turned towards him, smiling again.

"Fine. I suppose I should take advantage, after all, right?"

She nodded and snuggled closer to him out of habit. This time was different, this time they couldn't hide behind the darkness and wake up every morning to ignore the fact that they had spent the night in each others arms.

She looked at him with her deep eyes, wide and awake, with gold glimmering along the edges. He draped his arm over the curve in her waist, like usual, but was sure the morning light gave away the deep blush in his cheeks. If Eponine noticed she had the good graces not to mention it, and instead rested her forehead against the place where his jaw line met his ear. He felt her warm breath on his skin when she asked,

"Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare because of the broken glass last night? I wasn't sure. I think I slept too soundly to notice."

"No, not this time."

"You would tell me, wouldn't you?"

He looked down at her, with her head now slightly tilted back so she could look at him and read his expression.

"Yes, Eponine."

_I would tell you anything, if you would ask_, he thought.

* * *

**Lift your head and look out the window**  
**Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go**  
**Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!**  
**All the living are dead, and the dead are all living**  
**The war is over and we are beginning...**

* * *

They fell asleep once again; Eponine was the first to wake this time. Enjolras turned over in his sleep to find her side of the bed empty, so he ventured out into the kitchen and found her heating up some chicken and potatoes she had recently bought at the market. She had made fresh coffee, too, and they sat down to a late lunch at the kitchen table.

Eponine sat crossed legged on her chair, now dressed in her loose nightgown and two pairs of woolen socks. There was a look on her face, determined and curious, the combination of which didn't sit well with Enjolras.

"Enjolras?"

He looked up from his food and responded, "Yes?"

"How did you escape?"

The question was asked quietly and clearly, with Eponine knowing she might be crossing into uncomfortable territory. For the first time since the barricade, Enjolras was forced to think about that question. He wanted to say that he wasn't sure he did escape. Perhaps this house with Eponine was an illusion, the daydream of a dead man, but he knew she wanted a concrete answer. He would have had to explain eventually, he thinks.

He answers her in the same manner she asked him: quietly and clearly. It was happening again as the words fell from his mouth.

"I'm not sure, exactly. I think... I think... I don't know. There was so much noise, so much shouting. I remember running into the cafe... I was upstairs... we tried to destroy the staircase so the soldiers couldn't follow..."

He paused, his mouth slightly parted. We. That was the closest he had ever gotten, that small word, to mentioning his fallen friends out loud.

"You don't have to, Enjolras..."

"No, I think I should."

He looked back up at her, then trailed a crack in the wall behind her to the window and watched the snow swirl in the wind.

"I was upstairs, by the window. Courfryac, Combeferre, Joly, they were with me. I heard gunfire, they fell... I watched them fall. I knew they were dead."

He closed his eyes and saw their faces. Scared, bloody... all because of him. He had been so foolish. He continued talking, needing to go on for some reason, with is eyes still closed so he could watch it happen again.

"I was by the window still, and... and Grantaire was there, all of a sudden. I think he had been upstairs already. The window... I looked outside... I just remember thinking 'it's over'. I had the flag. They pointed their guns at me... at Grantiare and I... and one of them looked me in the eyes. He looked afraid. He looked like he didn't want to do it. Then there was a shot, and I fell... I remember the sunlight when I fell out the window, and feeling my blood running across my face. That's it. When I woke up, Madame Houchloup said the other bullets missed me when I fell. It was that soldier, the one that was afraid, that saved my life. He fired first, and because I fell the others didn't hit their mark. I remember asking about Grantaire, about the others... but she just shook her head."

He opened his eyes again and looked back at Eponine.

"She just shook her head."

"I remember that." Her voice sounded so small, so far away.

"I woke up before you did. I saw you, I knew you by your red jacket. You were feverish; you tossed and turned for so long before you awoke. She cried for you, after you asked about the others."

He didn't know what to say to her.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry I asked."

He shook his head at her. "Eponine..." But she was out of her chair and hugging him before he could say anything more. He wrapped his arms around her, returning the favor, and heard her whisper into his hair, "Thank you for telling me. I never thought you would."

When she was seated again in her own chair he asked, "What about you, Eponine?"

She sipped her coffee. "I don't know. I don't even remember getting shot. I... All I remember is Marius."

Enjolras knew he shouldn't, but he felt a sharp pain in his chest when she mentioned Marius.

"I remember looking up at him, like I was in a fog... I couldn't really see. I looked up at him and I knew I was talking, but I couldn't hear what I was saying. It all faded to black, and when I woke up in the attic Madame Houchloup just looked at me and said, 'You poor foolish girl'. I... I was shot, because I pushed Marius out of the way."

She said it with a haunting look in her eyes, like she regretted it, like she was ashamed. She was hurt. She had almost died for him... and the fool had married Cosette. Of course, it was known around the Cafe that Marius didn't return Eponine's feelings. She was known as his shadow, and that was all Enjolras remembered of her. He was too focused on his meetings and speeches. He felt guilty, for back then, and when he asked now, "Did you really love him, Eponine?"

He was shocked with himself, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could think twice. He never realized how much he had wanted to know the answer. He supposed she had thought about this very question when she only paused for a brief moment before answering.

"I thought I loved him, I really did. But I think... I think I loved the idea of him, to be honest. He was kind with me, and didn't speak to me like I was a child. It was shocking, really. Eponine, she knows her way around. But no one ever treated... no one spoke to me like he did. It was like he didn't care that I dressed in rags or that I was a criminal. I was nothing, nobody at all, to everyone else. Even my father. Especially my father."

"Didn't your mother look out for you? Your sister?"

Eponine managed a sheepish smile at his question.

"My sister, I suppose. But we never talked, never asked each other questions. We would just be focused on the tasks my father assigned us. To my mother, we were just a burden; two more mouths to feed. Not that she tried. When we were younger, I suppose, she might have cared. When we had some money she always made sure Azelma and I had the best dresses, the fanciest dolls. It really was all for the town, to make it look like she was a good mother. A women is always judged by how well her children are dressed."

Eponine, so full of stories, had managed to never mention to Enjolras that she wasn't cared for. Enjolras knew, perhaps better than anyone, that parents who bought you things didn't necessarily love you.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be, you know. It's alright."

He took a breath; made a decision. If he was going to tell Eponine his memories about the barricade, he mine as well tell her the rest.

"When I was younger, my father did the same."

Her senses perked at the mention of Enjolras' father, not accustomed to hearing anything about his family. She was surprised.

"We lived on the coast, not far from here, actually. My father was a merchant and owned many of the local ships. He made a lot of money on imports and exports, you know: wine and linen, things like that."

A smile played on Eponine's lips.

"You lived by the sea."

He returned her smile with his own, half smile. So, she finally knew something about the elusive marble man.

"He trained my brother and I starting when we were very young, wanting us to run his business when he got too old. I was never much for it, but my brother showed promise."

"What was his name, your brother?"

Enjolras smiled a bit. How long had it been since he had thought of his brother? Ages. Years.

"Benjamin. He was older than me by three years, and easily the favorite."

"Was he blonde?" She smiled again. God, his heart fluttered when she did that. He couldn't help but smile back.

"No, actually. He was like my father: black hair and freckles. I must confess I take after my mother with my blonde hair."

"Is that what happened, then? He took over your father's business?"

His smile faltered a bit, remembering everything now. It's funny how a revolution can erase your past and drag it back again.

"No, it didn't happen like that. We were still young, I was eleven, when he died. He caught pneumonia one winter and... never recovered. My father was destroyed. I think that was the first time he realized his money couldn't buy him everything. He was furious... at the doctors, at God, at me. I knew he would have rather me be the one to get sick."

"Oh, I'm so sorry..."

"It was fine, Eponine, really. I was never in my father's good graces. It was Ben from the start who he wanted to run the business. I was much too distracted by my books."

She did really look concerned, thought Enjolras. When he had called his brother 'Ben', it almost looked like she wanted to stand up and go over to him. It was an interesting thing, he thought. It had hurt him tremendously when his brother died, leaving him all alone in that big cold house by the ocean.

"Was your mother kind to you, at least?"

"She was, for a while. She never was herself after my brother died. She tried so hard, and I don't fault her one bit for being withdrawn. I was alright, in the end. My father hired a maid and she was kind to me. I became friends with her son, Eli, soon after. That's when I realized there were people out there with little to no money, as awful as that sounds. I was quite sheltered."

"So you read all the books you could on social justice and the monarchy, didn't you?"

He smiled at her. "Yes, I do suppose that's when it started."

"Where are they now, your parents?"

"Well, you can imagine how my father felt about my new found hobby. He found it quite convenient to ignore me. When I was old enough to attend University I packed and moved to Paris in one day. The last I heard..."

He paused, once again finding himself becoming re-acquainted with his own life.

"The last I heard he is still running the business. My mother died a year ago."

He saw her eyes grow sad yet again. He didn't want her to feel the need to say sorry. He supposed that his life was better than most. He didn't want to wallow.

"What of your parents, Eponine?"

"My mother... she died in prison, a few months ago. I haven't heard from my father, although Marius told me he is sure he left town with Azelma. As for my brothers, I'm afraid I have no idea."

"You have brothers, Eponine? I thought you only had a sister?"

"Yes, three. The youngest two were gone before they were even a year old, I'm sure my mother saw a very profitable way to be rid of them."

Enjolras was appalled. What sort of woman did Eponine have for a mother? But Eponine paused, looking down at the floor. She seemed to be hesitating.

"And the third..."

She looked up at Enjolras, apprehensive. Her eyes seemed to apologize.

"My third brother is Gavroche."

Gavroche? Wasn't he... oh, no. Eponine's brother, the youngest to die at the barricade? He had no idea... her brother... and it was his fault. Say it, he thought, tell me that it was my fault your brother died. Your brother died fighting in my war. He didn't speak, he had no idea what to say to her. His voice cracked when he managed to whisper, "Eponine... I..."

She seemed to know what he was thinking.

"Enjolras, please, don't... I don't want you to blame yourself. Please."

"But it is my fault, Eponine. All of it."

He stood and turned away from her, seeing ghosts in her brown eyes. Gavroche was his fault. They were all his fault; the old man, his friends, men he didn't know. He had never hated something as much as he hated himself at this very moment. He turned to see that she had stood, too.

"I led them to their graves, Eponine! They... they listened to my words, I convinced them that we were going to win. I told them we would shape history, we would finally bring down the monarchy! I led... I led them to their graves..."

He felt his heart constrict and his head spin, he was breathing at a dangerous pace. He had nightmares about the barricade, he would wake up with the ghosts of his friends in his mind, hear their voices... but now the magnitude of everything was suddenly hitting him from every angle and he felt so utterly devastated.

"I'm sorry, I never should have said anything, Enjolras..."

He closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, to calm himself down, but he felt as if he was going to tear his hair out. He felt her close to him, holding his wrists in her delicate hands. His breathing was getting worse.

"I did it... if I hadn't talked so hopefully... I should have known..."

"But you had no way of knowing, Enjolras. You couldn't know. All you wanted was a better world, you wanted people to be able to speak for themselves... if they hadn't believed those things themselves they wouldn't have followed you. You all knew what you were doing..."

"Did we? Did we, Eponine? I am not so sure! They were my responsibility, and I let them down. I let their families down..."

She was pushed against him, now holding the sides of his face, trying to calm him down. He was so panicked he didn't have the energy to be flustered at thier close proximity. His eyes were closed and it seemed like he was speaking to no one particular.

"We seemed invincible, but we weren't... I was so foolish... I lead them to thier graves. If you're young and hopeful enough, and someone takes advantage... I took advantage... I'm not a leader, I'm nothing but a hangman..."

"You can't do this to yourself, Enjolras! No one forced them to be at the barricade, they wanted to fight! You... you lived, you survived, don't throw that away by destroying yourself."

He opened his eyes to look at her, so close and so beautiful, but so wrong.

"I survived. I hate that word. I detest it. It makes me seem like a hero, like someone who did everything in their power to fight and is somehow justified no matter how things end up. It mocks me, that word. Tell me this, Eponine, if I was so fortunate as to survive then why do I feel like I shouldn't have? Why do I feel like the hands of the devil rather than the Lord pulled me from the barricade? They haunt me, Eponine. Day and night, whispering in my ear things they would have said if they were still alive. They are dead, and it is because of me. My friends will never see grey hair on their heads... why should I? I am a monster, Eponine, can't you see? I'm not a hero, I'm not even a revolutionary anymore. I am the man over the hill sixty years ago, and we are all the same. 1793 and now. One regime may fall but there are thousands of revolutions waiting in the wings. There is no point! NONE!"

His chest is heaving now, and Eponine has tears in the corners of her eyes. She speaks to him in a calm voice.

"I know what it is like to feel like life is a burden, I really do. But you can't... you can't give yourself so much responsibility. You merely talked and they followed. I was there, I remember... they were talking about revolution as strongly as you where. You were given a gift, and I know... I know it doesn't feel like that right now, and it might not for a long time. Please, don't waste it. Don't throw it away. I know they liked to say you where a man of marble, that you were stone..."

One of her hands moved from its place resting against his cheek and moved down to the small opening in his shirt, enough to see the place where the near-fatal bullet entered his skin, and slowly ran her fingers across the scar tissue. He had a look of awe on his face, plane and simple, with tears now gathering in the corners of his own blue eyes.

"But marble only cracks, it doesn't heal." Her eyes met his.

"I'm just a man, Eponine. I'm just a man who behaved too long as a god."

"It's alright, to just be a man. You don't... you don't give yourself credit. You just hurt yourself."

The tears in her eyes spilled over and are now running down her face, her face that is so close to his.

"I know it hurts, trust me... I know it feels like you lost everything... but I'm here, I know what you're feeling. Damn, it hurts_ so much_, but don't let it destroy you."

Her voice is wavering, wet with tears, and Enjolras can't believe the barriers that have fallen between them. Is it because he told her about his brother? About how he gets his golden hair from his mother...?

"Eponine, Ep, please..." he doesn't want her to cry. But at the sound of her name, at his new nickname for her, 'Ep'... her tears kept falling.

"I just..."

He couldn't seem to finish his thought. Inches away from her, he couldn't think of anything else. He was so hurt, and then she was here...

She leaned her forehead against his and her lips parted so she could take a breath...

Enjolras kissed her.

He pressed his lips to hers without even thinking twice. She was soft, and wet, and she tasted like coffee. He pulled her closer to him only slightly, afraid she would pull away. But her lips parted to make room for his and her soft hands on the sides of his face held him tighter.

He had never kissed anyone like this, so softly and surely like he had planned it down to the last second. She was so perfect, pushing and pulling at his lips with her own, agonizingly slowly. His hands moved up to the back of her neck, gently gripping her dark hair in his grasp as he kissed her in return. He had no idea what he was doing, but_ merde_, his skin burned where it touched hers and even though he felt his lungs constricting he didn't want to stop. A monarchist with a musket couldn't pull him away from her right now.

But eventually, something did, and he felt cold and empty without her lips. They stayed close, his hands still in her hair and their breathing heavy, when the full realization of what just happened hit him full force in the stomach. Stepping away from her was the hardest thing he had ever made himself do... that is, until he opened his eyes to look at her.

Her beautiful eyes, shimmering with gold and tears, locked onto his. He felt for her, when he looked into her eyes. He felt all the pain she had ever felt, all the happiness, all the joy, the hurt... everything. Her lips were swollen from kissing and her small chest was heaving up and down. Her arms hung limp at her sides, not knowing what to do now that he wasn't there to occupy them.

He was almost expecting her to yell, to hit him... something. He had no idea what to say. His first thought was that he needed to leave, to get away from her, to find some way to rewind. God, he loved her, but he should have never kissed her. They were both so vulnerable... so he started to pull back. He didn't recognize his own voice when he spoke.

"Eponine, I... I'm sorry, I was just..."

He stopped talking, not sure what he was trying to say to her. Much to his dismay, she remained silent. She picked a great time to stop talking.

"I was just... hurt, and... thinking about the barricade... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... it was a mistake..."

He looked toward the ground and ran his hands through his hair. Eponine finally spoke, but her voice was so quiet. She sounded so sad. It killed him.

"Yes... a mistake. It... it's fine, I understand. It never happened."

His heart dropped in his chest, because he realized that that would be the only way to deal with this slip: pretend it was a mistake, that it was a foolish thing a wounded man did when he was upset. He repeated back to her, still not brave enough to look into her eyes, "It never happened."

He couldn't stay here, not with her. Not with her swollen lips and creamy skin and his body still reeling from being pressed against hers.

"I need... we need some more coffee..."

He grabbed his coat from the hook it was on and swiftly left the house in a second, shutting the door behind him knowing full well they had plenty of coffee and he didn't even have any money. He set off along the road, full of snow and exhausting, until he reached the town in what seemed like no time. He couldn't feel his feet or his hands, but he wasn't sure it was because of the cold. He closed his eyes and he saw her, felt her lips on his, and hated himself. He knew he had made a mistake in kissing her, that he was no good for her, that he was the last thing she needed...

So he stumbled into a tavern, the only one open on Christmas. A few old men were inside, already drunk. These were the men who had no family, no one to love them, nothing to do. He mine as well make himself at home, he thought. So he opened up at tab at the bar and for the first time in his life got good and drunk.

By the time Enjolras made his way through the snow and back to the house he was sober, much to his dismay. It was dark inside. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but succeeded in knocking over a chair with his own clumsiness.

Eponine was in bed, curled amongst the blankets, and he couldn't bear to look at her. He was in the same room as her and missed her so much. Not knowing what to do, he made sure she was asleep and then layed over the layers of blankets in order not to disturb her. He didn't try to hold her, to rest his face in her hair. He merely stared at the ceiling, thinking of his brother, the barricade, Eponine's smile, and how he had ruined the only wonderful, beautiful, perfect thing he had in his life. Against his better judgment he looked over at her, wishing he could wake her up and tell her everything. But, this is how it would have to be until they returned to Paris.

_I am so, so sorry, Eponine. I am sorry you have a fool like me in love with you._

* * *

_Disclaimer: I don't own any characters pertaining to Les Mis_


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